“NEITHER THE DAY NOR THE HOUR”

A Sermon by the Rev. Melanie Morel-Ensminger
First Unitarian Universalist Church of New Orleans
Sunday, March 30, 2008

Reading (Adapted from Matthew 25: 1b-13; as taught as the Sunday School lesson at a Koinonia gathering (Chattanooga African-American clergy association) on Feb. 8, 2000)

Ten young girls took their flashlights and went to a rock concert. Five of them were foolish and five were wise. When the foolish took their flashlights, they took no batteries with them; but the wise took fresh batteries with their flashlights.

As the rock star was delayed, all of them became drowsy and fell asleep. But at midnight there came a shout, “Look! Here’s the rock star! Come out to meet him.”

Then all the girls got up and turned on their flashlights. The foolish ones said to the wise, “Give us some of your batteries, for our flashlights are going out,” But the wise replied, “No! for then there will not be enough for both you and us. You had better go the 24-hour drugstore and buy some batteries for yourselves.”

And while the foolish girls went to get batteries, the rock star came, and those who were ready went with him to the back stage reception, and the door was shut and locked.

Later the other girls showed up, saying, “Open up the door for us.” But the rock star replied, “I don't even know you.” So keep awake, and always be ready, for you know neither the day nor the hour.

Sermon
It was about 8 years ago, but I still remember vividly the retelling of the familiar parable from Matthew as recast by my colleagues at the Clergy Koinonia, the African-American ministers’ association in Chattanooga, Tennessee. When I first heard it, I knew exactly how those foolish girls felt, for I remembered vividly a time when I had been such a foolish and unprepared girl.

When I was 7 years old and in the 2nd grade at Our Lady of Prompt Succor Elementary School in Chalmette, I was given the honor and responsibility of being coatroom monitor. This singular distinction was traditionally awarded to the so-called “smartest girl” in the class. (Gender categories being what they were in the 1950s, the “smartest boy” was always given the job of cleaning the classroom erasers. No girls ever cleaned erasers and no boys were ever coatroom monitors -- go figure what gender had to do with it.)

The duties of the coatroom monitor were simple: you made sure that all the coats and bookbags belonging to the kids in the class were properly stowed in the coatroom every morning before class began. This may not sound onerous to you, but you have to remember it was a Baby Boomer class of some 30-odd 7-year-olds, who were not usually conscientious in hanging up their coats and putting away their stuff. Oftentimes, coats would be jumbled all over the floor, and old-fashioned bookbags (not yet backpacks!) thrown every which way, creating an obstacle course to get to the classroom.

The teacher who selected me for this position of honor was Sister Johanita, who was from, I believe, Germany, and had a slight but noticeable accent -- especially when she was riled up. One particular morning in late fall or early winter -- I remember it was one of the first chilly days of the school year -- I was happily engaged in talking to my friends, totally and completely ignoring the mess on the coatroom floor, figuring I had lots and lots of time until Sister Johanita arrived and class began -- until I saw, through the classroom window, Sister striding purposefully out of the convent and heading towards the school building. In a guilty flash, I ran back to the coatroom and began frantically hanging up coats and stuffing bookbags into cubbyholes. Of course, I was not nearly finished when Sister burst into the room, thus catching me unprepared.

“It iss not to be done now,” she hissed angrily at me, grabbing me hard by the arm and propelling me bodily back to my desk, “Thiss iss to be done before class starts -- not when you see me coming!” I was thoroughly disgraced and embarrassed -- I meant to do it, I just thought I had more time. I was not surprised when another girl was made coatroom monitor in my place.

In both stories of foolish young girls, my story and Matthew’s, everyone involved knew what was called for and necessary in the situation, but only some were prepared. Maybe the others felt that there would be lots and lots of time before the rock star or the bridegroom or Sister Johanita showed up, but they miscalculated. The event that they thought was far-off happened when they least expected, and they were not ready. They knew neither the day nor the hour.

All of us here, indeed, every single human being alive, knows what is called for and necessary to be a good person, and to live a good and serviceable life. In almost every culture and religion, variations on a common theme can be found: that, everyday, in every way we can, we should care for others, especially those more vulnerable than ourselves; that we should exercise compassion in our daily dealings with our fellow human beings and other creatures; that we should recognize and accept that we are not the be-all and end-all of the universe.

Of course, it’s phrased differently in different spiritual disciplines. In the prophet Micah, it is written, “What is required of you except that do justice and mercy and walk humbly with your God?” Jesus answered the question, “What is the greatest commandment?” by saying, “You shall love God with your whole heart and whole mind and whole strength and you shall love your neighbor as yourself.” The Buddha taught loving-kindness to all creatures. The Hindus stress that acts of compassion may release a soul from the endless round of suffering that is rebirth. The Navajo believed in the concept of Mitakuye Oyasin, “all my relations,” that everything created was kin to them. Islam teaches the duty of care to those in need or oppressed.

So we all know what makes a good life and a good person. We know this, let’s face it, we’ve always known this, and yet we let ourselves think that we have all the time in the world in which to do it. I’ll be kind, I’ll be compassionate, I’ll think of others -- but later. (We are like St. Augustine, who famously prayed, “Oh God, make me good -- but not yet.”) In the meantime, we are cruel; we are thoughtless and careless; we belittle and insult others who think or look differently than we do; we involve ourselves in pursuits that are harmful to ourselves or to others or to the earth; we ignore our emotional and spiritual health; we lose our tempers and say terrible things to those around us; we deny our complicity in unjust systems and institutions.

We don’t do these things because we’re awful people. We don’t do these things because we’re inherently evil. We do these things, usually, without thought, without intention. If we think about our behavior at all, we probably figure that we will apologize later, fix it later, make it up later. But what if there is no “later”?

About a year before he died, my father was warned by his physicians that there was nothing else they could do for his congestive heart failure. “You could go any time,” they told him. When we, his daughters, heard the news, we took care, every time we saw him or spoke to him, to say, “I love you, Daddy.” I wonder now, how would we have ended our conversations with him that final year had we not known, if we had not had that warning from his doctors?

We know neither the day nor the hour. So few of us get any kind of warning that we are going to die, or that our loved ones are dying. We just don’t know how long we have, and we don’t know how long anyone else has either. My dad lived a full year longer than the doctors predicted, and our good friend Sam Hinton died faster than her physicians guessed. We can never tell. Isn’t life too short and too precarious for bitterness, for unresolved anger, even for lack of communication?

Few churches have had as much chance in a short period to have this lesson brought home as we have. Unfortunately, over the past 2 ½ years this congregation has experienced tremendous, almost unbearable loss – loss of property and posessions, of homes and goods and jobs, and loss of people. Over and over again people have left us, through dispossession and loss of jobs, through illness and death. These were people that we did not expect to lose, and did not want to lose. These were individuals and families we loved, who had given much to the church and to the wider community. We miss them, and we wish we had had more time with them.

I am convinced that one of the ways we can deal with our sense of grief and loss, is for us to take to heart the unexpectedness of it all. We know neither the day nor the hour, so let us strive to be ready, to be prepared. Don’t let relationships atrophy through neglect, or be destroyed through carelessness or cruelty. Don’t put off doing the right thing; don’t wait to apologize for the hasty remark, the thoughtless insult; don’t think you can spend loving, quality time with your children, your spouse, your parents, your best friend, people you care about tomorrow or next week or after the next rush or holiday; don’t expect that there will be time some other time to help someone out, to say a kindly word, to be of service in the world to more than just yourself and your own family.

Suppose you knew that you had only days to live. How would you live your life differently? Sure, all of us might live our lives differently if we were guaranteed only a few days to live. That’s the easy part; anybody can do that. Here’s the real challenge: you have no idea when you might die or when someone you love might die; you know neither the day nor the hour. So, how do you want to live? How do you want other people, especially those you love and care about, to remember you? What emotional and spiritual legacy do you wish to leave behind?Life is so short, so brief, and we are given to know neither the day nor the hour. We should not waste our lives in strife and petty power struggles; we should not fritter away what little time we have in recriminations and grudges.

Life is so short, so brief. Let us make it bright and sweet and worthwhile for each other, by living lives dedicated as much as possible to love, to authenticity, to justice, to compassion. So might this be! AMEN – ASHE – SHALOM – SALAAM – NAMASTE – BLESSED BE!